


Debut

by Fudgyokra



Series: Kinktober 2020 [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bukkake, Double Penetration, Filming, Gangbang, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn, Sex Work, background RomanTim, tiny mention of DickTimRoman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26741614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: A job is a job.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Other(s)
Series: Kinktober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930009
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	Debut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dedesan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedesan/gifts).



> Channeling an RP thread universe for this fun PWP. ;3c
> 
> Day 8: ~~Menophilia~~ | Casting couch | Bukkake

The green light goes on. Tim stares resolutely at the camera lens despite his jangling nerves, smiling like Roman taught him. Do it like you’re shy, he’d said, but maintain a look in your eyes like you enjoy a challenge. Tim thinks it’s obnoxious advice, but it works all the same. A job is a job.

“My name is Alvin Draper,” he says, the beginning of a recitation; the easy part. “I’m five-foot-six.”

“Five-foot-six? Maybe we could put you on petites!” The guy manning the camera sounds enthusiastic about that, and Tim laughs instead of rolling his eyes like he really wants to. Beside him, out of the camera’s line of sight, Roman _does_ roll his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t think I fit the bill,” Tim answers as sweetly as he can. “I mean, I’m not really…”

“The twinky type?”

Now his laugh is completely real. He can’t believe he has to answer these stupid questions like this is a typical interview. He shifts on the couch and the, ah, _well-loved_ leather squeaks beneath him. “No, not really. I weigh a hundred-twenty-five.”

“You work out?”

From the side, Roman nods, and Tim manages not to swallow hard as he reaches for his shirt and unbuttons with all the haste of a man ready for action. This particular kind of action is not quite what he had envisioned when he first joined Roman’s club as a bartender, but he doesn’t mind most of the time. Being on film isn’t among his favorite things, though.

Camera Guy’s little _ooh_ of interest suggests to Tim he might as well push his shorts down, too. There’s nothing underneath, and the pleased, “Good boy,” he earns surprises him into a blush he hopes makes him looks flattered instead of just taken off guard. “I think you’re exactly what we’re looking for. So, I’ll send this tape to producers, and they’ll be the ones to decide if you do well.”

“I understand,” he says automatically, because he’d been given this rundown behind the scenes already. This is nowhere close to the first time Roman’s done this. That’s the real business hiding behind the shiny exterior of a nightclub. Not unusual for Gotham.

“Have you ever been on camera before?”

Tim hesitates, turning redder. “Just for personal pleasure.” Roman’s personal pleasure, he does not add. “Not like this.” He eases himself back on the couch and tries not to think about the multitude of bodies that have previously occupied it. He fails, but hopes his brief grimace is played off as nervousness.

“That’s okay, that’s okay.” Camera Guy is trying to be reassuring, which is the least reassuring thing Tim has ever heard. “Do you know what to expect today?”

Yes, he does. What he says, with a bashful smile, is, “Not really. I have an idea.”

“That’s okay, too. Basically, you’re going to have a trial scene with male talent—” _Male talent._ Tim bites his lip so he doesn’t snort—“You’re going to be, y’know, giving blow jobs, doing anal. Are you familiar with these things?”

Tim’s next burst of energy from Roman’s sideways look is all poured into not passing out from humiliation. “I am. I’m told I do well.” Here, he fake laughs again, and Camera Guy laughs along.

“Producers like to hear that. All right, my next question is: Have you ever done double penetration?” Well. He and Roman’s other charge, Dick, are very well acquainted with each other and with their boss, for better or worse. Tim nods. “Oh! Impressive.” He’s going to melt into the floor from embarrassment, he’s sure of it. “It’s good to see that you’re open to these things. So, what you’re gonna do now is…” Camera Guy waves the _male talent_ over, and Tim restrains a sigh as four of Roman’s False Facers file in behind the couch he’s sitting on. “You’re going to masturbate for the camera.”

His hand moves between his legs automatically, despite the stripe of shame that ignites at the base of his spine. He’s used to listening to demands like this, given his line of work, but being recorded still makes him jittery. Still, he performs easily enough, careful not to drop the artificial gaze he’s meant to be working for.

With enough concentration, he makes himself hard and ready, and not long after, two of the Facers flank him standing. It’s go time.

He doesn’t need instructing to reach up with both hands, wrapping one around each of them and working diligently until one flexes his hips forward to prod at Tim’s cheek. He parts his lips, obediently allowing the stranger in, and lets him strike forward with such speed it gags him. The reflexive watering of his eyes makes him shut them for a moment, which is long enough for Camera Guy to instruct him to look at the lens again in a tone that’s quickly becoming an irritant.

Tim blinks watery eyes up at the light as he sucks, moving steadily down to the base with a sort of eagerness he knows is generally appreciated, all while maintaining his pace with the other cock in his hand.

“Good,” Camera Guy praises, then fiddles with the zoom. Tim sees the lens move closer and flushes darkly across the bridge of his nose. Even if he knows this is the point, the idea of the focus being on his mouth as he tries not to drool all over himself is not helping his stage fright, least of all when the man he’s blowing reaches up and drags his head forward until he’s mashed against him, nose to skin with a cock so far down his throat he can’t even breathe.

He moans softly, which seems to be a good thing, because both of the Facers above him respond in kind. Once he’s released, he bobs his head for a few seconds before sliding down again, taking all of it on his own this time.

The man in his hand pulls him off by the hair with more vigor than the first guy had, and Tim gasps with the movement until he’s shoved onto the next cock with hardly a breath of pause. Betrayed by both habit and the dismaying approval of his own body, he moans again, lashes fluttering as he hollows his cheeks and works.

Just as he gets used to being shared between them, Camera Guy butts in with, “All right, great! Now I’m gonna have you ride a little. Reverse Cowgirl. Can you do that?”

That’s _usually_ what Tim does. It’s a specialty plenty of the patrons enjoy, both for ease of movement and, well, an eyeful of what they’ve paid for.

“Um, yeah,” he gets out, voice a little shredded, “I can do that. Let me just…”

While he shifts to allow one of the men to sit beneath him (and finally it’s _his_ ass on that disgusting couch, Tim rejoices), he catches Roman whispering something to the director, who in turn replies, “There are two more cameras so we can see different angles.” He knew as much, but it does put the flush back on his face to hear it out loud. The fact that they’re seeing where the Facer’s fingers dig into his skin and spread him open makes him shiver.

Tim is glad he prepared beforehand, because the man under him uses the most paltry amount of lubricant he’s ever seen before he feeds his cock inside him. His mouth drops open around a sharp, wounded yelp that’s only about sixty percent faked when his hips are pulled down the rest of the way down the shaft. There still is a tiny bit of sting there, but he doesn’t really mind.

What he _does_ mind is the Facer hooking his hands beneath Tim’s knees and baring him to the room, but without the ability to do much about that, he simply settles his feet on the creaking leather and gets to work, feeling a bit flayed by the attention.

“Show off for the camera,” Camera Guy commands, and Tim’s reluctant huff accompanies a faster pace than he’s strictly comfortable with at the beginning. It’s nothing unfamiliar, and the sting fades the more he rocks his hips and breathes. After a while, the moans are only staged to be _louder,_ butthey’re real besides that.

He’ll admit he enjoys getting pleasure from it. The faster he can ignore Roman lurking in the corner, staring critically at the way he performs, the better. He doesn’t hate his job so far, but he definitely does not like his boss. There’s a possibility Roman knows that, which might be part of the reason Tim is doing what he’s doing, if it isn’t exclusively for the money. He wonders for all of two seconds if Dick has done this, being the favorite of the club that he is, before the line of thinking is abruptly fucked out of him.

He gasps at the sudden jolt of feeling that comes from a thrust against the right place, and from there the Facer inside him only moves faster, pulling his hips down on every upward movement.

The ragged sobbing sound he makes at the next series of strikes is completely genuine. It’s rough and overstimulating but _so_ good, and he doesn’t even mind when the other Facer climbs up against the back of the couch just to push his cock past Tim’s lips again.

He spots one of the other cameras when he swallows the man down and peers just past his hip on the upswing, and this time his groan is a little despairing. Luckily no one can tell the difference with this guy all but riding his face.

Once again, he just begins to get used to bouncing and moving his mouth in tandem when the other two Facers finally round the couch, and Tim is bodily moved instead of directed into the next position. It’s not smooth, as it takes a bit of patience for the man beneath him to twist so he’s lying length-wise down the couch, taking Tim with him, but once they’re there, Camera Guy hits the zoom again.

“Okay, Alvin, prop your leg on the back of the sofa. Let us see.”

Tim feels like he’s getting a medical examination. Past the burning in his face, both from strain and shame, he does as he’s told, hooking his left ankle over the back of the couch and one arm behind Male Talent’s neck for some semblance of balance. From here, he can plainly see Roman watching him, looking as passive as ever but with a tent in his slacks that makes a whine stick in Tim’s throat.

He’s startled by the other Facer on the couch moving in front of him, eclipsing his view and then forcing his right leg back against his chest. He reaches for the lube that one of the newbies hands him. Tim braces himself.

Although he holds steady and focuses on his breathing, the second the head of another cock nudges past his rim and pops into him fully, his spine arches like a bowstring and a ragged gasp makes it out without his permission. The stretch is near to searing at first, but the deeper he’s penetrated the more he trembles, the entire area between his legs feeling alight with sensitivity.

“Look at the camera, baby,” Camera Guy reminds him, and Tim casts bleary, half-lidded eyes on the nearest lens with his mouth still hanging open around his audible panting.

The two men inside him grind and twitch more than thrust, and that gives him about ten seconds to reassemble his poker face before they’re moving in earnest. Everything around him is reduced to crashing waves of sensation, to the point where even the black lens he’s staring into starts to feel like something in his peripheral.

He doesn’t register his own voice, even when it’s the loudest thing in the room. “ _Mmmfuck,_ ” he gasps, one noise pumped out of him as involuntarily as a breath.

Blinking, he glances down at the flex and jolt of his abs on every movement, the faceless man above him providing much of the momentum while the one beneath him is mostly just rocking into it and holding Tim upright. The spike of arousal he feels is sudden, hitting hard enough to make him hiss through his teeth, which are pried open by someone’s fingers in the next instant.

He keeps forgetting where he is, but the third Facer—the person who grabbed him, it seems—decides to remind him by jamming his cock straight down Tim’s windpipe. How polite.

Roman chuckles somewhere in the floating abyss of a background, and past his own gagging, he hears him say, “Perhaps act a little more graceful about the choking, pet.”

Somehow, being reprimanded for choking is more humiliating than being choked. Tim is sure the stupid cameras are catching every angle of his red-faced spluttering, even with the last Facer blocking the main one when he steps up and smacks the leaking head of his prick on Tim’s cheek with a wet smacking sound.

Like their predecessors, Male Talent numbers three and four decide to be chivalrous to one another and share the abuse of Tim’s mouth in turns. By now, he’s beginning to feel like a toy, but he suppresses the instinct to be disgusted and flutters his lashes how Roman likes, being sure to moan and pant and beg theatrically like he knows he’s supposed to.

It works well enough for the first man’s hips to stutter, and when Tim feels him groan deep in his chest, he knows he’s close—expects to feel him finish any second now, only for Roman to whisper something to Camera Guy, who waves a hand at his collective talent and says, “You’re gonna finish _on_ him,” like a trainer commanding a herd of dogs. Of course Roman wants that. Bastard.

Tim actually shakes when everyone pulls out of him, feeling intimately how swollen and puffy his rim is even before Male Talent number one pushes past it with his thumb and whistles. “Did we play too rough, honey?” he asks, voice gravelly and so tuned out he must not realize how ridiculous he sounds. Probably not, given the way he pants and jerks himself off over Tim’s wrecked hole like he can’t think of anything else but coming.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, Tim would really enjoy getting to come, too. When he starts to move his hand to his dick, though, he’s blocked by someone else beating him to it, and they start a pace so quick and unexpected that his voice vaults toward the ceiling in what has got to be the most embarrassing sound he’s ever made; it’s barely shy of a wail, and he thinks he almost headbutts the man under him but can’t bring himself to care.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” another Facer praises breathlessly, and Tim flicks his gaze to him only for the guy to finish at that exact moment. And all over his face, too. He closes his eyes in time to prevent anything from getting in them, thank god, but it also doesn’t help his ego that he comes right after, shaking hard and spouting whine after whine like a broken record while the other men jerk themselves over his still-quivering body.

It feels as dirty and shameful as he expected it to when the other three all finish after each other on top of him. He groans softly when their release splatters over his chest, his stomach, and between his legs, and fails at his attempt not to shiver at the way it feels sliding down his skin.

“Fantastic!” Camera Guy exclaims, and Tim doesn’t see everyone move, but he feels the jostling and the absence of their body heat as they presumably all go to clean up. “All right, so, I’m gonna need you to sit up and open your eyes, Alvin. We have one more little bit of the interview to go.”

Reluctantly, Tim does as he’s told. Even as cum streaks down his face, over his lips, and down the entire length of his torso, he forces a worn-out laugh. He reminds himself not to think about how much of the mess is his own and how much of it _isn’t_ when it trickles down his balls and sticks to his thighs and winds up on the couch. He’s a mess, like Roman has merrily orchestrated, and annoyance is not the proper reaction. It’s a frustrating job, sometimes.

“So?” he’s asked, curiosity bubbling to the surface of Camera Guy’s tone, “How was that?”

“It was really fun,” he answers automatically, flashing a practiced smile in spite of how utterly debasing it is to be doing this interview fucked-open and dripping. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Clearly,” Roman says, sounding satisfied in a way a big cat with a kill might.

Despite how much Tim wants to scowl, he only laughs, sweet but tremulous from the action.

Camera Guy laughs along. “What did you like most about it?”

This just keeps getting worse. Tim wishes he could will the color away from his face, but it’s so bad now that he’s flushed all the way down his chest. “Hard to choose just one thing…”

Roman tells the director, “He’s a remarkable little whore. Loves this kind of thing.” Then, in a voice that can only mean _answer the question,_ adds to Tim, “Humor him, baby.”

Tim bites his lip and picks the answer he knows Roman’s going to like best: “I like being used. It’s very—” he imagines what Dick might say; the kind of thing that makes people think he’s air-headed when he’s really not—“ _freeing_ not to have to make all those hard choices. I just get to lie back and take it.”

Roman practically radiates pride. Tim laughs again, this time in relief that his answer worked. Camera Guy finally, _finally_ shuts off the camera. “Well done,” he compliments, nodding at both Tim and Roman. “I think the producers are gonna appreciate this one.”

“Oh, yes,” Roman says, “a good many people do.”

Tim tries not to let that bug him. “Thank you,” he says, flatly, not bothering with the performance face anymore as he moves off the couch and puts on the robe offered to him.

Camera Guy packs up and ships off pretty quickly, and barely five seconds after, Tim lifts an eyebrow at Roman. “How much was that worth?”

Roman reclines in his chair and lights up a smoke, oozing self-satisfaction. “Five thousand big ones. Good job.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but accepts the information with a nod. Not bad for a rookie.

Roman eyes him like he wants to take a bite out of him, and Tim pretends not to notice as he pads to the bathroom to rinse off. Right before he gets inside, he hears the man say, “I think it’s time you got a promotion, Timothy.”

He locks that in his head, making a calculated effort not to think about all the things that could mean, and shuts the door behind him.


End file.
